


Don't Get Caught in that Mess

by thel9stwea699



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Humanstuck, M/M, Mentions of alchohol use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 03:05:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2008551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thel9stwea699/pseuds/thel9stwea699
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally posted to my tumblr here: http://fly-weeabooty.tumblr.com/post/68107546178/i-been-writing-again-awe-yeah-fluffy-stuff-under<br/>More general fluff, humanstuck style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Get Caught in that Mess

“Kankri, no… you don’t wanna’ get caught up in that mess.” Rufioh pleaded, tugging urgently on the aforementioned teen’s sleeve. Two delinquents, who may have been intoxicated, were squaring off in the middle of the sidewalk, faces red with fury. They yelled, cursed, and gestured in a way that made it obvious that a fight was imminent.  
“They are making an unnecessary scene when the problem could easily be solved with my level-headed intervention.” The Cancer reasoned, pulling his arm from the other’s grasp and beginning to stride forward with purpose.  
“Please don’t…” the Taurus said with increasing desperation as he watched his friend draw nearer to the squabbling boys.  
Upon reaching the young men, Kankri cleared his throat and delved into his social justice spiel. “Pardon my interference, but I’d like to request that you not quarrel here, what with being in public and all. It’s in your best interests, as well as everyone else’s.” Both of the street punks, drunk on their own testosterone, turned flinty eyes on the scrawny little shit who thought he had the nerve to try to mediate between.  
“Who’s this tiny twink?” the taller one sneered derisively, glowering down at Kankri.  
The Cancer looked appalled, then indignant, and opened his mouth to verbally wreck this douche’s shit. Before the words could flow from his mouth in a cascade of condescension Rufioh clapped a hand over his friend’s jaw, chuckling nervously. “Sorry about that… my pal’s not feelin’ so hot; not himself right now. I’m gonna’ take him home.” He apologized, ignoring his hostage’s muffled complaints.  
“Your little ‘pal’ should learn to mind his own fuckin’ business.” The other thug chimed in. He wasn’t as tall as his antagonist, but Kankri, being only just five-foot-four, was still dwarfed by him.  
Prying his friend’s dactyls from his mouth, the scrawny journalist retorted, “It’s hardly a private affair if you’re scrabbling in the middle of the street!”  
Again, Rufioh’s fingers flew to Kankri’s lips. Struggling as he was dragged away, the Cancer heatedly spewed about acceptable conduct and courtesy, though it was only heard as a perpetual string of “MMPRRGHH MMAPFFF, TRITHER WORNONG!”  
Begging his friend to “just let it go” under his breath, the Taurus continued hauling Mr. Justice Pants while the other two boys watched with mixed anger and amusement.  
Despite the fact that he only might have weighed ninety pounds soaking wet, carrying Kankri off proved to be a difficult task. There was a passionate fury burning inside of his tiny vessel, one that refused to be quelled. He struggled for all possibly one-hundred pounds he was worth, wriggling like a worm in Rufioh’s hands.  
When they were well away from the situation, the Cancer was released, panting, indignant, and glaring daggers. “I could have easily handled them, but no, you had to carry me away like a petulant child!”  
In exasperation, Rufioh tried to explain, “I didn’t want you to get hurt… they were real worked up, yo. They weren’t in the mood for jammin’ about their feelings.”  
“I am perfectly capable of defending myself; I’m not a little boy. Do I look like a little boy to you?” When the other student didn’t respond and instead looked away sheepishly, Kankri raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “I am a young adult!” he said shrilly.  
“I know, I know! You’re just so…” the Taurus searched for a delicate way to say it.  
“So…?” the journalist prompted, arms crossed and head cocked in a way that gave him the air of an angry housewife.  
“So shota.” Rufioh finished lamely. “You’re like jailbait… for the jailbait.” Wow, real smooth there, Ruf. Couldn’t have said it better.  
If he didn’t have the hands of an anime schoolgirl the Cancer would have strangled his companion. “I am not!”  
Shifting awkwardly, the taller boy hoped to change the subject, “Hey… you wanna’ get some ice cream? S’ on me.”  
Eyes flashing dangerously, Kankri growled, “You think you can get off Scott Free by bribing me?” Ooh, you gon’ get it, weaboo boy.  
“N-No… I just thought…” The Taurus stammered. Rufioh towered over his friend by nearly and entire foot, and, while he wasn’t exactly buff, had more muscle. Yet, he was intimidated; this half-pint in a sweater had him concerned for his own safety.  
“Hm?” the journalist pressed, lips pursed. This was gonna’ be good.  
“I figured I’d treat you as a… an apology for dragging you outta’ there, yeah.” Cough, pussy, cough.  
Kankri was skeptical that his friend was actually sorry, but he relented anyway. One does not simply turn down free ice cream. “Very well, I’ll excuse your actions.” Oh, how benevolent.  
Rufioh experienced some skepticism as well when the Cancer ordered a sundae nearly as big as himself; there was no way in hell he could finish that whole thing on his own. To the taller male’s astonishment, the feat was accomplished, Kankri sitting primly with his hands folded in his lap. Jesus, didn’t this kid get fed at home?  
With his wallet experiencing distress, the Taurus paid for the ice cream and left a decent tip. When they’d cleared the front doors, Rufioh opened his mouth to speak, closed it, swallowed, and tried again, “How…?” was all he could manage to get past his lips.  
“How what? You can’t very well expect me to tell you the mechanics behind something without first specifying a topic.”  
“I mean all that ice cream…” the mohawked teenager said, still a tad dazed.  
Kankri responded with a small shrug, “It was good.”  
Blinking, Rufioh tried to formulate a response, and then shook his head. Maybe that appetite meant the journalist was finally going to hit his growth spurt. Probably not.  
As they walked, Kankri thanked the other for the treat; he felt much cheerier than before, and it showed. His earlier resentful and disgruntled expression had expired, for now. Perhaps Rufioh should sweeten him up more often.  
In hindsight, the above proposition was not a good idea, at all. Within minutes of stepping out into the autumn air, the smaller boy was absolutely frigid. A bit later, within the hour, his gut was roiling. He should not have tried to tackle that huge sundae, but it had been so damn good. Now, he exaggerated that he was dying. He was dying and the only one he deemed competent enough to write his eulogy was himself.  
“Eughhh…” Kankri groaned, doubled over himself on Rufioh’s couch. Meanwhile, the Taurus hovered nearby, worried but also faintly amused.  
“Drink some water, G. You need to flush all that sugar outta’ your system.” Rufioh advised, offering a glass. Taking slow sips, the journalist eventually emptied the glass and then promptly slumped back over. Curled into himself like that, Kankri looked tinier than ever; if he rolled to the right the space between the cushions might very well devour him. Taking notice of the Cancer’s shivering, the taller male retrieved a blanket, lacing it around his companion’s slender shoulders.  
Later that evening, Kankri awoke, blinking in confusion for several moments before he recalled the events of the day. Sitting up, he immediately spotted Rufioh tucked into the opposite corner of the sofa, dozing.  
There was a weight in the crook of his arm that hadn’t been there before when the mohawked boy finally stirred. It took several moments for him to register that the bundle pressed into his side was, in fact, Kankri. Smiling, Rufioh wound his arms around the other’s frame, resting his chin on the crown of his companion’s head, the curls there acting as a cushion.


End file.
